Suddenly, the boy beside him woke up, sitting upright and ready to bolt.
His wide eyes settled on me, then grew even wider when they found Harthon. Instead of running, he tried to melt into the wall. Probably because he’d have to get closer to Harthon in order to exit the room.
I stared at this boy who’d held a dagger to my belly in fear not so long ago. Instead of fleeing that garden or staying hidden, he’d attacked the man pursuing me. “You saved my life in that garden,” I told him.
His gaze jumped back to me. When he spoke, his voice was so small, I almost didn’t hear him. “They would have killed me.”
“They were distracted by me and Stefano. If you ran, you would have made it. Instead, you helped.” I wasn’t exaggerating. These were the facts.
He hitched up a small shoulder, acting like his bootlaces were the most interesting thing in the world.
Harthon took a small step forward. “Now is not the time to look away or be humble.” At his bass, the boy’s legs halted, tensing. Harthon’s tone remained firm when he continued, “You were a warrior in that garden. More than that, you were a hero, and we honor our heroes. You will not be a nameless face here. Choose a name for us to honor.”
It was several breaths before the boy’s legs started kicking again, then a few more until he lifted his head and looked at Stefano. His mouth moved around a string of words, the sound imperceptible.
Stefano must have heard it, because he grinned and nodded. “That’s a warrior’s name. Now say it louder. Proud like a warrior.”
The boy only chewed on his lip, nerves strewn across his face. He glanced at me and Harthon before landing on his boots again.
Harthon stepped right up beside me and announced, “My name is Harthon.”
The boy released his lip but still didn’t speak.
I was pretty sure everyone alive—and a good number of those buried beneath the ground—knew Harthon’s name, the looter boy included, but I understood his tactic.
“I’m Etarla,” I said, with more zest and pride than I probably ever had.
Stefano announced his name next, then silence fell as we waited for that small voice to speak out. When it did, it was lined with something fierce. It also shocked the skies out of me.
Lifting his face, which was now scrunched in determination, he said, “My name is Southen. Or South.”
It took a surge of effort to not see if Harthon was as stupefied as me.
He’d named himself after North.
The bald, bearded, mean goliath of a man who’d been in charge of him ever since he came here. The one who snarled and scowled like it was his daily duty.
This shy, timid boy had named himself afterhim.
If Harthon was surprised, he hid it well. One side of his lips lifted, and he declared, “Thatisa warrior’s name. And I know of a certain warrior who’ll be pleased to hear it.”
Chapter 9
It was sunny outside.
Well, sunny-ish. Again.
A soft wash of yellow light overwhelmed the smoky skies, warming my face as I gazed up past the garden’s walls. It wasn’t only my face that was warm, though. The little bulb within me smoldered like embers, sending a comforting wash of heat through my shoulders and down to my belly.
I wasn’t sure why it was acting up today.
I also wasn’t sure why it had helped me during the fight, guiding me to use that vine to take down one of my attackers.
So bizarre. But so helpful, too. If it kept acting with so much personality and independence, I’d have to name it.
“Don’t take this as an insult, but guarding you has been so damn boring. Your hallway is depressing. This is much better,” Callen remarked. He leaned against the wall beside me, face tilted up to the sun, hands fiddling with a fallen stick.
He was my assigned guard today. It was strange, being out in the garden with him instead of Stefano. But I was glad to have him here. His loud personality distracted me from the anxiety crawling up my throat and the new tendency to flinch at every sound. A few days ago, I’d nearly died here.
